Waiting Room
by Opapea
Summary: She stares at him from across the room, knowing she had made the right decision. It doesn’t keep her chest from literally hurting though." Will/Emma, post-"Sectionals"


A/N: Hello again – the fic never seems to stop. This time a Will/Emma fic, because I love them dearly. Really, I love Will and, well, everyone, so….more stories in the future? Probably. Please leave feedback – I'd love to know what you think!

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She stares at him from across the room, knowing she had made the right decision. It doesn't keep her chest from literally _hurting_ though.

In her few years as a guidance counselor (it seemed like decades some days), she had advised more than one heartbroken teen – and the occasional adult – on the uncertainties and emotional dangers of entering into a relationship after one had just gotten out of another. She figured that, more often than not, waiting was wise. If it's meant to be, she would tell the kids, waiting a bit longer won't matter that much in the long run. 'What if he gets in a car wreck tomorrow and dies and I never get to tell him how I feel?' they would counter (was she ever this dramatic in high school?). She was never quite sure of how things would turn out, but caution was always wise. She lived her life by that.

Sometimes, however, she thought her own brand of caution (sterilizing Tupperware twice before storing, disinfecting the door handles to her office every half-hour on the dot) was a bit too much – in cleaning, and in everything.

After Will kissed her (and stars burst behind her eyes and her fingertips turned to ice even though she was bundled up in her coat), she had still said no. She was following her own advice, she reasoned. It was a simple as that. Wait, she told him. He'd said OK, with a smile even, and hugged her. They'd stood in the hall a few minutes like that, and when she left she'd said she would call him in a few days, after she' d worked a few post-called off-wedding things out. She left that day feeling hopeful and happy, thinking that even though it may take time, Will was still clearly in her viewfinder.

Things just couldn't stay that good though (maybe she is as dramatic as the students), and she woke up the next morning in a cold sweat. She took three showers, and then methodically cleaned her house from top to bottom, room to room, over and over again – for a week. It wasn't until the high school a town away called her, asking her if she'd be interested in a position there and would like to come in for an interview, that she realized a) her therapist was not going to be happy with her, b) she hadn't eaten more than some grapes for days, and c) she had never called Will. It was the last option that bothered her the most.

She called her therapist, called the school, and now, four months later, everything was under control again. That is, until Will walked into the waiting room of her therapist's group practice.

She had never called him; she had been so embarrassed by her behavior. How can you start a phone conversation like that? "Hello Will. Yes, the reason it took me so long to call was that I was in the middle of a nervous breakdown, partially caused by you and our relationship, and also because I can't really pick up the phone when I'm up to my elbows in bleach."

How romantic.

Her eyes widen and her face burns, but he doesn't see her as he walks to the front desk, so she tucks her hair under her hat and wills her eyes to burn holes into the picture of a holiday table setting in the _Home and Garden_ she's holding. She stays in that exact position until she reaches the count of 552 – that's when her doctor comes into the waiting room and calls her name. A bit too loudly, she thinks.

She gets up and walks to the entrance to the back offices – which is, of course (_of course_) the area of chairs where Will has chosen to sit. He's seen her, and is staring, mouth slightly dropped in his way (oh goodness, I wish he wouldn't do that). She holds his gaze, hands clasped in front of her, and nods slightly. She doesn't say anything, for fear her voice will break. When she gets to her therapist's office, it does.

For obvious reasons, her appointment is a bit longer than usual. She has a good cry, and they talk mostly about Will. He's come up in their conversations before, but this time she tells her doctor as much as she can, knowing that if she's honest with him, she's being honest with herself. When the appointment is over she sneaks out the side door, but her stealth is no match for irony. Will is leaning against the wall a bit down from the door, staring at her car.

"I didn't mean to wait for you, but I saw your car as I was walking to my own – and I stopped. That sounds a little creepy, I know." His hand is fiddling with an appointment card, but after a moment he tucks it into his jacket and turns to her.

"That's fine. It's good to see you." Yes, Emma, act like this man is simply a former co-worker who you didn't sit next to at every opportunity. Waste all of that therapy you've paid an arm and a leg for.

They both look down, and though she doesn't want to look at his face, she wants to look at _him_, so she stares at his shoes. They're new, brown. Looks like something Terri would have bought him. She pushes that thought out of her mind, waiting for him to say anything, really.

"I've been seeing Dr. Hiten for a while," he says in a rush. "After I left Terri and…well, after I left, I didn't have a lot of people to talk to. For a couple of weeks I didn't notice because we were so far in over our heads for things for Regionals, but I couldn't do it. My mom recommended this place to me, so I came. I'm doing much better now." He says that last part quietly, and when she looks up he's looking at her. Her shoulders fall, because in that moment she realizes she waited too long, that she lost her chance when she didn't call. She has to leave now, because she can't cry in front of him – she doesn't want him to remember her like that.

She takes a deep breath in. "I'm happy to hear that. Have a good day." The words tumble out, and she turns on her heel and walks to her car door. She doesn't make it – his hand is on her shoulder, and as she turns around she feels her still-puffy eyes well up.

"Will, I just…I'm sorry I never called. I was embarrassed and frightened, and I needed time." She doesn't out-and-out cry, but she feels something running down her cheek. Not for long though, because Will reaches up and catches it with his finger. Then the air around her gets heavy, and he leans over her, pulling her into him.

They stand there in the parking lot like they stood there in the school hallway, just holding each other. It feels good to hug him – this Will, her friend; not the Will she had in her mind, the one she'd built up a wall against. She missed him, not just because she used to be in love with him (and still is, but one step at a time) but because she, like him, had lost several lines of communication in a rush. She could always talk to Will, and hopes she still can.

"Emma," he says above her head, "I know you said you wanted to wait, and I agree, but I was wondering – maybe we could wait together?" He pulls back, and he has this very sheepish grin on his face. Her chest swells because he'd said he'd wait, and he still is. And is OK with waiting some more, which she's not sure she wants to do.

She doesn't say that last part, but nods.

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Several weeks later – 11 to be exact, but she doesn't let him know she's counting; he probably is as well – they're at Nationals, sitting in the row with the kids as they wait for the judges to come out and announce the results. Will's holding her hand in a death grip, his sweat all over her hand. She finds she doesn't mind – anyone else, though, and she's be in the bathroom holding her hair back over the toilet.

The kids are all jittery too – Rachel's pacing the aisles, Quinn looks like she's about to go into labor any minute – but when the judges walk onto the stage, all of them, Will and Emma included, sit straight up in the chairs.

The kids don't get first this year, but they do come in second, and after they go up to the stage to get the award and move backstage, the onslaught of hugging and screaming begins. At first she stands to the side, letting the team have this moment, but one by one the kids make their way over to her, thanking her for all of her help. She smiles and hugs them, only slightly terrified when Finn straightens his back, lifting her a good four inches off of the ground.

Finally Will comes over, but before he can say anything she pulls him down, kissing him. His arms wrap around her, and they only pull back when the kids start to whistle. She laughs, but his face remains serious.

"Are we done waiting?" He looks hopeful, almost pleading with her to say yes.

She does, and he swings her around the room – this time, she's not terrified at all that her feet aren't touching the ground.


End file.
